


Dvandva (Bittersweet)

by charcoalwinter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Banishment, Difference Of Opinion, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Death, Loneliness, Magic, Not Beta Read, One Shot, Original Mythology, Pain, Physical Transformation, Plant-Based Poison, Poison, Sort Of, Suicidal Ideation, but I'm tagging it anyway, it's very non-specific and it's only for one sentence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 10:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20387995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charcoalwinter/pseuds/charcoalwinter
Summary: WOTD 25-08-2019dvandva [dvahn-dvah]noun: a compound word, neither element of which is subordinate to the other e.g.bittersweetIn a mystical forest, a herd of fae take pride in toying with lost humans and generally enjoying their glorious lives. Also lurking in the forest though, is one plant that has the power to take all of this away. What if one young and lonely fae finds this plant and decides that the risk it poses is worth the rumoured consequences?





	Dvandva (Bittersweet)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on dictionary.com’s word of the day. The underlined section of the definition is the part that I shall be following.
> 
> I’m so upset that I missed August 23rd’s word. It was ‘snoot’. That could have been so good! Puppers and doggos galore! Alas, I was travelling and didn’t have time to write. Today’s word wasn’t a complete loss though, so here we are. 
> 
> This dictionary.com definition wasn’t very clear to me, so I did some further research. Basically, the way I understand it, is that ‘dvandva’ is a pair of words that are on equal footing that have been pushed together to make one word e.g. boyfriend, hometown, bathroom.
> 
> There are plenty of words that I could have chosen to work with here, but as you can see, I’ve used the example that was given because I feel like it stays true to the ‘taking what I’m given by dictionary.com’ aspect of this series.
> 
> The characters, the plot, the writing, and all mistakes are solely mine. Please do not edit or use these characters or this story in any way, and please do not redistribute my works. Thank you for respecting my wishes.

The fae folk of the West Forest are a cunning breed. This particular herd has been around for upwards of three centuries, haunting the mystical acres of their territory and eagerly daring foolish humans to come closer into their midst.

Glimmering patches of light barely visible behind the huge trunks of skirting trees; colourful flowers tactfully hidden under shrubs so that only a petal or two could be seen _just _out of reach; the constant trickle of a distant waterfall audible to all but the hard-of-hearing, once again, a novelty not within sight but still carrying the promise of wonderful existence. These are just a delicate handful of the clever tricks that the fae employ to lure in lonely wanderers or curious townsfolk.

It’s not that the fae are evil, oh no. It’s more that they love to cause mischief. For when a human lurks near enough to the edge of the West Forest, the deep-seated urge to find out more about the mysteries within takes hold, and the bravest of them will often fail to resist the pull. And humans are just _so easy_ to manipulate.

They are the fae’s favourite sport. Draw one in, secretly fill their head with terrifying scenes of a rampaging predator or a multitude of colours so intense that insanity is a serious possibility or perhaps just a calm tea with the fae queen and her fellows, and then pop them out the other side after a few hours and track their journey as they stumble on, unable to process the magic that now has settled in their brains. The entire experience will appear as nothing more than a heightened dream for as long as magic thrives in them.

And so it goes, the fae folk of the West Forest live happy lives in their wonderland, occasionally toying with a stray human that comes too near, and commanding the forest and all of its loyal creatures with fair hearts. The herd have no fear of extinction as they are not a commonly hunted group. There is only one thing that has the young nervously checking their hiding places as they play, and causes the grown to triple-check the ingredients for their meals.

_Celastrus scandens_ is a plant. More specifically, it is a vine; one that winds its way around the strong bodies of the pine trees and tangles itself among the shrubs that crowd the forest floor. In late autumn and all throughout winter, the plant -known to the fae folk as ‘bittersweet’\- carries bright red berries that stand out amongst the greens and browns of the rest of its mass. It is these berries that provoke the fae to be wary of bittersweet, not its leaves and woody tendrils.

The berries, if touched by a fae, drain their magic and leave them weak and vulnerable. A precious few young have even been known to catch illness in their fragile state and float on into the next life not yet having fulfilled this one. Such an event has not happened in recent years though; the herd is much too careful now.

Perhaps worse than coming into direct contact with the berries, is what would happen if a fae were to drink their juice. Every fae knew that consuming the bittersweet nectar results in a fate worse than death. To be human -to grow large, lose all traces of magic, and mutate into an inferior being- is an incurable curse that would not only lower a fae’s worth tenfold, but also terminate their place in the herd and leave them alone and lost in a scary and unknown world where they can no longer process magic. 

The stories of those tragically deceased fledglings and the haunting tales of the rare transformations are now told as bedtime stories, meant to instil fear and cautiousness into the minds of the new generations to protect them as they evolve and thrive.

One fae, a small number of years into his maturity, had, like the rest of his herd, been told those very stories by his guardians. But unlike his peers, he didn’t learn to dread the vividly red berries that grow on the bittersweet vine. He is wary, of course, but does not truly understand why the rest of his herd despise the idea of being human so much.

Because, while humans are undoubtedly larger, less agile, and are forced to live without magic, they make their own way with the gifts that they were given. Their lives are seen and taught to be worthless when compared to the lush existences of the fae, but really, in the mind of this young and conflicted individual, the two species’ ways of life are just different; one is no better than the other and the quality of such cannot be accurately and objectively measured.

This fae, his given name not conceivable to the human mind, has spent the majority of his so-far developed years being shunned by the most high-ranking and traditional members of his herd for his outspoken beliefs of parity. He knew that soon it will be likely he is banished from West Forest for having these supposedly dangerous and traitorous thoughts.

No other spoke to him any longer, and his once glamourous and thrilling life has been lonely for some time. He doesn’t join in with the teasing and (what could very nearly be called) torture of the sporadically passing humans and he eats his supper alone at the end of the great bench. The young leave a wide girth around him when they rush by and mothers glare at him while they hush their wailing offspring, as though every negative reaction is due to his disgustingly villainous presence.

His current lifestyle is directionless and isolated. Maybe it’s time for him to explore the human species up-close. There is nothing here for him to miss and there is nobody here who shall miss him. The dangers will surely be worth it if he has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

With this mindset, the lone fae makes a huge decision.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

It is just before dawn -a few weeks since the fae made his plans- when he leaves his meagre home and his pitiful collection of belongings and the herd that doesn’t care for him, and sets off in search of a bittersweet vine. With winter well underway, it hopefully won’t be too hard to spot a cluster of startlingly red specks against the white and grey surroundings.

The snow crinkles and crunches under his tiny feet as he travels, but he uses his magic to warm his toes and push the melted slush away from his steps. He supposes he will miss the ability to do such simple things that increase his comfort, but he will inexorably learn new skills to cope just as the humans have clearly done.

As the morning sun begins to cast its weak light through the gaps of the thick, winter-hardened foliage, the fae is in the midst of thinking over the grand non-magical solutions he will hopefully soon be needing to discover, when he finally spots a flash of red. Ten metres before him, timidly peeking out from behind a snow-dusted rock, is the treasure he has been searching for and the object of fear for most of his kind.

The bittersweet plant emerges into full view as the fae hurriedly stumbles towards it, his panted breath leaving visible puffs of steam in the air.

At last, he reaches them. His heart is pounding in his chest, both from exertion and from nerves, but he ignores the _thumpthumpthump _and slowly stretches to nimbly pluck two berries. One _should_ be enough, but he doesn’t want to risk it not working. Any more than two would likely kill him rather than transform him. A careful balance this is.

He can already feel the pull of the berries as they begin their work in drawing his magic out through his hands. Without hesitating, he squeezes tightly, one capsule in each fist, and drinks up every last drop that he can extrude. For a poison such as this, it tastes much milder than he had expected. As the name suggests, there is a slightly uncomfortable bitterness that coats his tongue, but as the seconds flee by, the flavour develops into something sweet and sugary, leaving his mouth feeling bubbly and refreshed.

Nothing happens at first, save for the continuing sensation of his magic depleting, the tingling in his fingers unnerving but necessary, he knows. He concentrates on savouring the taste that has settled on his palate, trying to distract himself from the upcoming and unknown specifics of the outcome of what he has just done.

It only takes a minute.

The process begins with a subtle throbbing in his core, similar to the pins-and-needles that are darting up and down his fingers. He clutches at his torso, not sure how to react and unable to determine if what he feels is painful or just plainly unpleasant.

And then the fae howls as agony suddenly and rapidly overcomes his fragile self. His scream echoes through the spaces in the trees, heat pooling in his stomach faster than he can handle. As the degrees proceed to rise, hotter and hotter, the power behind his cries also increase as the burning reaches almost unbearable levels. In the back of his mind, he thinks that maybe this is it, it can’t possibly get worse than this, but then the searing pain starts spreading and it worms its way throughout his whole body, setting his nerves alight and reducing his muscles to bubbling streams of lava.

He’s unsure of how long his insides feel as though they are melting under extreme temperatures. He can’t possibly compute such a complicated thing as _time _while in this state of anguish. The only thing that keeps him going through the torture is the knowledge that there is nothing waiting for him back at the place he used to call home. There is only the future, and this is how he gets there.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

Cold. That’s the first thing he registers when he re-enters the realm of consciousness.

Wet. That’s the second.

Dull. That’s the third.

The latter is the most troubling because, as a fae, he had never felt dull before. The magic that flowed through his very being kept a slight tingle that filled his entire body but now, with no magic to speak of, his vehicle feels steady and stable and just… dull. It isn’t unpleasant though; he’s surprised to find. Certainly, the absence of magic will take an enormous amount of getting used to, but he thinks he _could _get used to it.

As he lies on a patch of dewy grass, the snow having melted around him, the ex-fae-now-human takes himself in. His new body is large but similarly proportioned to his old one, which will make adjusting a _lot _easier than the alternatives. His skin has shifted from a pale, glistening blue to a pink-y cream colour that he has seen on some of the humans over the years. It doesn’t shimmer, but it is smooth and unoffensive and he doesn’t think he minds it so much.

Busy observing the fascinating hues of his new self, it takes a moment to notice that there is something flopping into his eyes, slightly obstructing his vision; a light brown shade similar to some of the daintier trees that inhabit the forest. He lifts a hand to run his fingers through it and push it out of the way, only to discover how _soft _the strands are. Hair, until today, has been an unknown, but now he doesn’t know how he ever lived without it. It’s warm and fluffy and just so damn_ soft. _He touches and memorises the feeling of his hair for several minutes, content to lie on the cold, damp ground while he becomes more dexterous with his grown limbs and digits.

He knows that soon his body temperature will be much too low though, and so, regrettably, he forces himself to let go of his hair and rise into a seated position. His abdominal muscles argue, stiff and sore from the change, but he pushes through it and achieves his aim.

Immediately, he spots his fae clothing that must have torn as his body expanded. He picks it up and is amazed at how _tiny _it looks in his hands; it barely covers one of his palms, the material still shimmering with the complementary magic woven delicately into the threads. Now that he’s human, he doesn’t know how long the enchantments will last, but this cloth is a reminder of all that he came from and who he used to be. Perhaps he will forget its meaning overtime as his ability to perceive magic dwindles, but he makes a promise to himself, right then and there, that he will never abandon this torn rag.

Clutching his old garment tightly in his hand, he sets his mind on standing, for there is no progress to be made sitting unclothed nearby a bittersweet vine in the midst of winter. Wobbly on his feet and unsure of his balance at this height, the newly-minted human turns to where the light shines the brightest, and takes his first real steps towards his future.

**Author's Note:**

> Bitch yes, maybe I took some massive creative liberties with the fae and the ‘bittersweet’ prompt and the bittersweet plant and also magic in general. Sue me (no, please don’t, I’m so broke). 
> 
> I would have loved to delve a little deeper into the background of the fae folk because I feel like this was so rushed (it was, it was very rushed), but I’m trying to be strict with myself and not get too carried away. For me, these word-of-the-day pieces are a practice in writing vignettes in a very limited time-frame. 
> 
> This one in particular took me a bit (read: way, way, _way_) longer than I would have liked though, because I had to build my own world _and_ squish some plot in there as well. I _think_ I’m happy with how it turned out. What do you guys think?
> 
> xx


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